I commence this year’s Oscar fashion criticism frenzy with Kelly Osbourne in Tony Ward Couture because this is the dress I stared at longest and ultimately found most controversially interesting among a thicket of bland and boring looks. 
Was Charlize exquisite in Dior Haute Couture? I guess. Is it memorable? No. Am I bored? Very. Is she serving a little Sharon Stone with that hair and smirk? Yes. 
Aniston possesses a rare talent for making Valentino look like the Macy’s Prom Collection. Stand up straight bitch. 
This tin-tittied mess is Anne Hathaway in Prada. Nobody noticed the diamonds, that’s for sure. 
When I see Halle Berry in this Versace, I want to pronounce it Versayce. 
I despise everything about Amanda Seyfried in this Alexander McQueen: the bridesmaid hair, the pageant pose, and the washed out non-color of the firefly patterned gown. 
Jessica Chastain has truly never looked better in impeccably-tailored spiderweb Armani. 
I don’t love Melissa McCarthy in this ill-fitting David Meister, but I will always love Melissa McCarthy. 
Jennifer Lawrence lacks a style identity. I suspect Dior hands her a dress and she obediently wears it. 
One of the best dressed of the evening, Octavia Spencer looks fantastic in this soft pink Tadashi Shoji.
A wrinkled mess, Kerry Washington served some sorbet Miu Miu. It’s too long, no?
I don’t get dead-eyed Kristen Stewart in Reem Acra. I know she makes some bitches swoon, but to me she is not everything. Can she close her mouth? What’s up with her constant open mouth? It’s creepy.
This Louis Vuitton just doesn’t fit Reese Witherspoon, and the fabric isn’t modern. 
Nicole Kidman wore L’Wren Scott and I think we can agree it was a decent choice for her. It’s a little fussy for my personal taste, but she wears it well and looks luminous. 
Let’s finish with the couples: Naomi Watts wore Armani Privé. Armani far and away fit the best dresses of the night. Ben & Jen, she in Gucci, but it doesn’t matter what she wears because nothing pops on this girl. 
No single attendee of the the 2012 SAG Awards snatched “best dressed” by a landslide; rather this red carpet showed subtle improvements – like Tilda Swinton in Lanvin, and not so subtle disappointments like a gawd-awful green Emily Blunt in Oscar de la Renta. 
Many will point to Lea Michele in Versace as best dressed. Does she look good? Yes. Would I be disgusted with myself to name her best dressed? Yes. 
I’m just not personally feeling this silhouette right now. Even though certain designers are pushing this awkward tea length it’s so hard to wear, as proven by Emma Stone in Alexander McQueen. 
Michelle Williams wore Valentino. From the waist up, it is magnificent. The shoes and bracelet aren’t right. I’m torn on the subtle asymmetrical hem. She werks the Mia Farrow better than anyone, no?
Jessica Chastain let Calvin Klein sculpt her bosom to delightful results. One of the best of the night. 
What the fuck Kristen Wiig? Explain this deranged necklace choice. Shame on you for ruining a Balanciaga with a bad choker. 
Shall we discuss the couples? Pitt wore Balenciaga and Jolie wore a Jenny Packham gown reminiscent of a Hefty bag. Clooney wore Armani and Keibler wore a boring black lace Marchesa. Is the dress boring or is she? Both?
Me likey Melissa McCarthy’s drapey Badgley Mischka and Natalie Portman in Giambattista Valli too. 
Glenn Close went big in Zac Posen. Diane Lane wasted her incredible body in David Meister. 
Vergara and Bowen in Marchesa and Temperely London respectively. I’m not moved by either.
Weird whites: Rose Byrne taking a risk in a jumpsuit, (p.s. Is she filming the Anna Wintour biopic with that new hair?)…
Zoe Saldana wore Givenchy and it didn’t photograph well. 
Viola Davis brought the twins to the party in Marchesa. 
Let’s end on a high note with Kyra in Pucci, though let this serve as a cautionary tale against tattoos. The ink on the rib cheapens the look. 
LuAnn and Sonja met up for lunch and pretended to just stumble upon the idea of a girls trip to Morocco that was so obviously planned and underwritten by Bravo. Sonja and LuAnn divided the duty of extending invitations to the other Housewives. In the course of the conversations that followed about Morocco, here are a few ignorant gems that passed the ladies’ lips.
“It’s like going to Paris. I mean Paris it’s not, but it’s a very sophisticated city.” (LuAnn claims to have visited Morocco several times; you’d think she’d know it was a country, not a city.)
“I’m a little concerned. It’s a third world country. They don’t respect women. I love my family. I don’t want to go away and end up not coming back.” Fear not Ramona, the Kingdom of Morocco will not hesitate to return you.
Even though they don’t serve Pinot Grigio, Ramona met up with LuAnn at Alice’s Teacup. The Cuntess laid into Ramona over shit that didn’t concern her. This offensive tactic sent Ramona spinning down a defensive dark rabbit hole.
Lady Morgan allegedly landed a toaster oven cookbook deal? The promotional photo shoot took place at her musty townhouse. Kelly stopped by to add her editorial viewpoint, lest we forget about her reign at Elle Accessories. Bensimon got more than she bargain for when Sonja “accidentally” flashed her cooch while writhing about on her dining room table like Tawny Kitaen on the hood of the car in the Whitesnake video.
The cliques split for two totally different spa trips. Barshop, still trying to buy her way in, bankrolled a trip to the ultra swank Canyon Ranch for Kelly, Jill, and LuAnn. To add a layer of cream cheese frosting to the already over the top gesture, embroidered robes awaited the ladies upon arrival. Jill couldn’t wait to open her present and did so in the lobby.
The Cuntess responded by pretentiously snipping, “Really darling, I mean never open a gift in the middle of a hotel lobby.”
While Canyon Ranch offered drum circles and massages, Ramona hosted a different kind of spa visit back in NYC at Dr. Giese’s office. Rudemona summed up her intention with this zinger: “…if you know something great, share it, so I invited both Sonja and Alex to come with me… Let’s face it, they could use a few touch ups.” 
Alex got dermaplaning (Ed note: this interests me), Sonja got VelaShape, and Ramona got a neck full of Botox. 
Without a hint of irony, the ladies all met up for an anti-bullying rally that Jill hosted. Ramona brought a case of her eponymous Pinot Grigio that was supposed to be for auction, but upon arrival she shouted at multiple members of the wait staff to crack it open and bring her a glass immediately.
Once the Cuntess arrived in a flutter of self-complimentary praise, it was immediately on between her and Ramona over David Meister of all things. Holy fuck this show is D-List, this shit is way more D-List than Kathy Griffin ever was, right? The Cuntess has her twat in a knot because Ramona blacklisted her at Meister. Ramona admitted she’d laid exclusive claim to wearing the rich woman’s Jessica McClintock, and LuAnn called the move “bitchy.” It’s no mystery why LuAnn’s drifting from Ungaro; since the Lindsay debacle things at the fashion house still haven’t recovered.
Under the guise of concern, the ladies gossiped through the runway show about Ramona’s excessive day drinking. During an emotional speech by Jill’s stepdaughter, Ramona rattled around in the background trying to procure more of her precious wine for 
Next week we’ll learn whether Ramona smuggled a few cases of Pinot to Morocco, or if she tried to white knuckle through the forced, tension-filled, faux-fun girls trip.
Alex invited Sonja to a damage-control lunch to smooth over the embarrassing squabble. The motivation for the meal comes not from Alex’s interest in repairing the relationship, but instead in the realistic fear that the rift with Morgan might jeopardize her camera time this season.
After quickly reaching an impasse, the two buttah blondes agreed to drop the tiff – which of course means we’ll be hearing about this petty shit for the next eight weeks. 
The French Fonz threw a wine and cheese party. He provided the wine, and LuAnn provided the cheese – specifically by making obvious and gag-inducing double entendres about spitting and swallowing. The highbrow speed dating was as awkward and boring as it has been in the hundred other reality shows where the gimmick has been featured.
Simon threw Alex an unpretentious picnic birthday party on Gov Island. The early October wind whipped guests and the masses huddled around a sad little plate of pigs in a blanket. Barshop and Bensimon arrived with their kids, surveyed the scene, and quickly retreated back to Manhattan.
David Meister invited Ramona to walk the runway, and LuAnn, Sonja, Alex, and Simon came to 
In an effort to kick-start her middle-aged modeling career, Alex participated in a portfolio-building photo shoot with Mark Veltman. Alex labors under the delusion that she’s going to supplement her “consulting” income by making bank as a model.
At her core, Alex is such a fucking try-hard dork. The woman has absolutely no swagger. Even though the hair and makeup team turned her out, she couldn’t make the editorial Bride of Frankenstein look werk.
Lacking the same self-shame chromosome as Ramona, Alex tried to rock her photo shoot hair to the event later that evening. A couple of hours prior, the hair was mayjah, and with the right attitude and outfit, I’m all for serving a little avante garde at the party. However, Alex lacked the confidence and sophistication to successfully take the look from editorial to cocktail.
When Cohen delayed the season, he promised it wasn’t due to lack of drama. Instead he claimed the show would benefit from breathing room between filming and airing. Now three episodes deep, the fourth go-round feels cobbled together and disconnected. Don’t get it twisted Bravo, Showtime’s got Cock Cages, so you best step it up.